


Coming Apart, Easily

by 105NorthTower



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Champagne, Cormoran Strike Loves Robin Ellacott, Course modules, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gloves, Invoices, Kick-ass Ekwensi, Late Night Phone Calls, Longing, Parties, Revelations, Running, Sea-bourne bacteria, Unrequited Love, Wish Fulfillment, knickers, whisky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/105NorthTower/pseuds/105NorthTower
Summary: Set after Robin's housewarming in Lethal White. Tying up a loose thread, it'll be obvious which one. A leap of faith ... I'm going to start without having any idea of an ending. No, that's not what I usually do. No it isn't!
Relationships: Cormoran Strike & Eric Wardle, Lorelei Bevan/Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike, Vanessa Ekwensi & Robin Ellacott
Comments: 60
Kudos: 71





	1. Sleepless

Things come apart so easily when they have been held together with lies.

Dorothy Allison, Bastard Out of Carolina (1992)

Strike waited until his beautiful companion was asleep, and eased his legs out of her bed. With deft hands, he noiselessly attached his prosthetic limb and set about dressing and retrieving his belongings: watch, keys, phone, wallet, coat.

He crept into the hushed kitchen, the only sound a faint hum from the tank of feathery tropical fish in the corner, and wrote Lorelei a note. **Sorry to run out. Had a new idea about a case, need to follow it up urgently. You were so lovely tonight. Speak soon. Strike. x**

His conscience shifted uneasily at the usual mixture of truth, half-truth and deception he habitually deployed with her. 

She _was_ very lovely, and last night was no exception. If he pictured her, basqued and elated, a riot broke out in his endocrine system and his body felt the pull. It was a genuine regret that his heart was never touched.

A newly formed idea _was_ making it impossible for him to sleep. 

It had _nothing_ to do with a case.

Reaching the street, he took out his phone and texted as he walked.

**Are you coming off shift? Fancy breakfast - usual time, usual place? I'm buying, Spud, so make the most of it.**

A few minutes later, he got a reply.

**What do you say to an Arsenal supporter with a good looking woman on his arm?**

Strike reached the tube station before his phone beeped again.

**Nice tattoo. See you in half.**


	2. Ekwensi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thoughtful tube ride.

As the carriage rocked and rattled under London, Strike examined the thoughts that had been keeping him from sleep. Mostly they revolved around the elegant figure of Vanessa Ekwensi.

Their conversation at Robin's party had been so brief, it didn't seem possible that it had left him in a state of such disquiet. 

What needled at his comfort most was her non sequitur about sea-borne bacteria. He had racked his brains to think of a connection to Robin, with no result. Worse than that was the friendly, conspiratorial tone of Ekwensi's voice. She must have thought the phrase would mean something to him. It bothered Strike that it didn't.

When he had made a simple remark about the house that was being warmed, she had met it with the information that it was rented. He had been surprised, and now, having replayed their conversation in his head repeatedly, he concluded she had meant to provoke some kind of reaction in him. 

With renewal respect for her inquisitorial skill, he recalled again the arch look she had given him when she mentioned that she had become friends with Robin after he sacked her. 

But Ekwensi wasn't the only source of his sleeplessness. 

He had observed Robin as closely as he dared, given that she would notice being watched more than most people, and he felt under observation himself, from Ekwensi, Matthew and Lorelei. Before arriving, he had braced himself for seeing her contented in the marital home. But in fact he needn't have worried. She hadn't spoken to her husband once in his sight. He hadn't seen them kiss, touch, lean towards each other, do anything demonstrative. She had seemed tense, even unhappy. Weren't people married less than a year supposed to be ... different? More ... in love?

In what felt like the distant past, although it was not much over a year ago, he had told himself that there was still time for Robin to save herself from a life with Matthew. 

The marriage had happened, but after last night, it still didn't feel too late.


	3. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think this is just about sea-borne bacteria? No no no. It's about Strike/Wardle chats too. And missing London greasy spoon café life, and those coffees made with steamed milk that take the roof of your mouth off. Do they still have those? Sorry ... back to the story.

By the time Strike arrived at their favourite Bethnal Green cafe, Wardle was seated and had already ordered two full English breakfasts with bread and butter, and bought the establishment's trademark coffee (strong, hot enough to cause third degree burns to the soft parts of your mouth and made with milk) to the table. 

'What's bothering you, Strike?"

"How d'you know anything's bothering me? Can't two friends meet for breakfast?"

Wardle laughed. "Well, they can. And they do. But guess who took over from me?"

Strike took a swig of coffee and gripped the edge of the Formica table in pain. "Fuck, that's hot."

"You do that every bloody time. Give it a chance to cool down!"

"Vanessa Ekwensi."

"Of this very parish." Wardle eyed Strike closely. "She said you'd be in touch. Must be something big for you to fork out for breakfast."

Strike set aside his planned gradual assault on the foothills of Wardle's information, and struck straight for the summit. "How well do you think Vanessa knows Robin?"

Wardle answered plainly, and without quizzing Strike on the whys and wherefores. "They've been seeing quite a bit of each other. Mutual interests."

"Which are?"

"The iniquities of the male sex, mate. What else?"

"They're both newly-weds, Wardle."

"Well, there you go. Fabric swatches. Recipes. Articles from Cosmo on giving your husband blow jobs to stop him playing away. Feminism."

"And?"

"The way Van tells it ... regrets."

Strike felt a chill dance down his spine. "What kind of regrets?"

"Strike, if you want my advice ..."

"I don't."

"Well, you're getting it. Leave it well alone. You aren't married. You don't know the half of it. Eat your breakfast."

Strike took a slice from the plate between them, and dipped it in his egg. "Does the phrase 'sea-bourne bacteria' mean anything to you?"

Wardle shook his head. "Nothing."

Strike chewed thoughtfully "I think she's in trouble, Spud."

"One of you certainly is. Where does Lorelei fit into this?"

Strike shook his head, but didn't speak. Wardle knew the state of play with Lorelei very well.

"Shit. April will have me in the spare room at this rate. And some of us like being married."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, being two men who didn't feel the need to talk if there was nothing else to say. Strike settled the bill and they left together, turning away from each other on the pavement to go their separate ways.

"Strike!"

He turned to see Wardle coming back.

"I shouldn't do this. So you didn't hear it from me."

"What?"

"Well, you probably already know."

"WHAT?"

"I think they've been in trouble from the start."

"Tell me."

"She called you. From her honeymoon hotel. Spoke to a woman who picked up your phone."

Strike's stomach lurched. "Coco?"

"I suppose it could have been one of your super models. How many did you have on your catwalk back then?"

"What did she call me for?"

"That I don't know. Vanessa let it slip over shots a few months back but she wouldn't say any more."

"Right. Thank-you, Wardle."

Strike walked away, not answering his friend's last shout.

"Strike ... can't you just bloody ask her?"


	4. Knickers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa is the friend who stays 'til the end. Robin and Vanessa talk knickers.

Robin shut her new front door on the last but one guest and leaned back against it, closing her eyes for a few seconds. 

"Penny for them."

Vanessa was watching her from the kitchen door.

"I'm not sure you'd get your money's worth," Robin smiled. "I'm glad that's over."

Vanessa put her forefinger to her lips and then pointed to the living room. Robin knew Matt was in there, slumped on their new sofa, having fallen asleep in the middle of a story about meeting Martin Johnson that Tom Turvey was telling them for the umpteenth time. Vanessa took her hand and pulled her out into the cool courtyard garden. From behind a pot of hyacinths she took an unopened bottle of champagne, sitting in an ice bucket. 

"One of the senior bean counters brought it. They handed it to me with their coat. Must have thought I was the catering staff."

"Oh my god," said Robin, shocked, "I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," Vanessa replied, "I put my knickers in his coat pocket. I'm thinking 50:50 his wife finds them first."

"I love you, Van," Robin whispered. "I'm going to tell him in the morning, then we can be together, always."

Her friend chuckled. "I think it's a really good one. Shall we drink it and say 'fuck off' to all of them?"

Robin nodded.

"Get some glasses, beautiful, let's get this party started."

***

"So," Vanessa raised an eyebrow, "That was her."

"Yeah," Robin sighed. "That was her, all right."

"She's good-looking." 

Robin gave her extra points for not saying "pretty" or "beautiful" - which in her opinion, Sarah wasn't.

"She is. Not classically beautiful, but she is a looker. She has bags of style."

"Hmm. And makes her own money."

"She makes more than me, certainly. But then who doesn't?"

"Come on, Robin. Comparisons are odious."

"They're also human nature."

Vanessa topped up their glasses with fresh bubbles.

"They seemed quite into each other."

Robin gave her friend a sharp look. "What?"

"But that could be just sex."

"Vanessa ... who are you talking about?"

She giggled. "Who are _you_ talking about?"

"Sarah, of course."

"Really?" Vanessa shook her head. "See, I saw lots of covert surveillance from you tonight, but you weren't looking at Sarah at all."

Robin emptied her glass and waved for a refill. "You think they're having sex?"

"Don't you?"

Robin shook her head. "Not my business."

"No, it's not. Doesn't mean you don't mind."

"I'm a married woman, Van ..."

Her friend made a dismissive noise.

"... no. I am. He's at liberty to date whoever he likes."

Vanessa sighed. "You remember when we first met up? You were fresh from your honeymoon. We went to Phonox and got wasted. You told me you didn't want to be married, and you wished you'd walked out on your wedding day?"

"Yeah," Robin sighed. "I'm so sorry about that."

"Don't be. We all need to offload. You also told me ... "

"That I hugged Strike at my reception," nodded Robin, "I know, but ..."

"Babe, you told me something else."

"Oh god. I should never, ever drink. Here, top me up."

"You told me you called him. From your honeymoon."

Robin felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Oh. Christ."

"No, that was brave of you, darlin' - it deserved better."

"Why are you reminding me about that?"

Vanessa played with the stem of her champagne flute. "I think it was probably the last selfish thing you've done."

"I thought it was brave?"

"Sometimes it is brave to be selfish."

"It's too late, Van."

"I don't think it is. But, I think you might have to be brave and selfish again."

Robin lifted her glass, "To bravery, girlfriend. And knickers!"

"To knickers, Robin. And knickers to all of them!"


	5. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Robin run in the books? We see her running in the TV adaptation of ... Silkworm? Well, she runs in this. 😁 And she runs. And she might never stop.

On the day after the house warming, Robin woke with a clouded head and a parched mouth. Matthew was worse, and it wasn't until she cooked him bacon and eggs and a passed him a large mug of tea that he started to look back on the party with some pleasure.

"It was a good night, I think. Tom and Sarah said ..."

Robin zoned out what Tom and Sarah had said. She found herself doing this a lot recently, editing the dullest parts of Matthew's conversation so she could escape inside her own head. Suddenly feeling guilty about it, she forced herself to pay attention.

"... and I was pleased Mr and Mrs Campion popped in, I didn't think they would."

Robin's mind was blank. "Mr and Mrs Campion?"

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "The big boss?"

"Oh! Yeah, they were here quite briefly, weren't they?" _That's not funny._

"Yes, but it was good they came at all. Quite a vote of confidence."

"Hmmm ... I think they made quite a thong and dance when they left." _Stop it, Robin._

"What?"

"Nothing!" Robin grabbed his cup, "You want another?"

To sober herself and calm the sense of rebellion that she seemed to have caught from Vanessa, she tried to imagine the row there would be if Matthew ever found out what her friend had done. The words "irresponsible" and "bad influence" would undoubtedly be used, and of course Strike would be blamed, because Robin would never have met Vanessa but for joining the Agency and being sent a severed leg, would never have made friends with her had she not been unfairly sacked by Strike and most things wrong with the world were somehow Strike's fault, from Matthew's point of view.

"You want to wash or dry?"

"I want to go," thought Robin. "I want to go commando through London like Ekwensi, find a certain private investigator and ... ... ... never come back."

"I'll dry," she said.

***

After the clean up, Matthew settled back on the sofa and declared his intention of watching the cricket. Inwardly screaming at the thought of wasting another afternoon watching men obsess about a ball, Robin announced she was going for a run, "To clear my head."

***

Robin set off from her front step and headed towards the High Street. The A200 disappeared into the westward haze and Robin set off down it, determined suddenly to have a long run, both to test her stamina and escape the confines of home for as long as she could.

She concentrated her attention on the rhythmic movement of her own limbs and allowed the feel of the challenging surface beneath her feet to push away all other thoughts. Rapidly leaving the area around Albury Street that she knew well, she kept running past Southwark Park and further, not stopping or slowing her pace.

The joy of solitude and freedom and movement drove her on, not caring where she ended, until she saw railway arches and a giant triangular glass edifice in front of her, and realised she'd reached London Bridge.


	6. Gloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gloves are off. EVERYTHING will be neat and tidy by the end, so help me.

Robin did a quick calculation as she got her breath back. She was barely two miles from the office in Denmark Street. She had no reason to go there today, but perhaps Strike would be in and they could talk ( _about what, Robin? You married Matt. He's with Lorelei. There's precisely nothing to talk about_ ) or perhaps she could just sit and drink tea and think, without the constant effort of having to be a successful accountant's happily married wife.

She started off again at a gentle jogging pace and twenty minutes later arrived at the street level door. Taking a bunch of keys from her running belt, she quietly let herself in.

The office was deserted. It had a strange atmosphere, like schools at the weekend, and although she had a right to be there, Robin felt curiously as if she was trespassing. There was no milk in the fridge, so she made herself a black tea and, not wanting to sit in the outer office in view of the door, went to sit at Strike's desk.

It was clear of any paperwork, as it always was at the end of the day, and devoid of any personality. Strike abhorred clutter. For reasons she couldn't have articulated, this now bothered Robin. She opened his top desk drawer, suddenly wanting to see some sign of him. 

"Nothing, " she murmured. "but stationery."

The next drawer held two printer cartridges inside their protective packaging. 

Robin opened the bottom drawer and smiled. "Bingo," she said, softly, and took out a pair of black, leather gloves that she recalled Strike wearing last winter. They were old and cracked, and smelled faintly of Benson and Hedges and whisky. Robin put the gloves on her hands and chuckled at how loose they were, then pressed her face into her gloved palms and took a deep breath, storing up a memory to carry her through another night in Matthew's bed, as if she were a pearl diver, trying to take in enough air to reach an impossible prize.

After several minutes, she took off the gloves and bent to put them back. Her eye was caught by a familiar string of numbers in a document sitting in the same drawer.

It was an itemised bill from a Travelodge. Robin pulled it out. It was for a ten day stay, beginning the day after the day of her wedding. No room service. Breakfasts were included. Telephone calls, several, including one ruinously expensive request to 118 500. 

And one lasting less than a minute, to a familiar number in Masham.


	7. Whisky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're together, but will they talk? I'm not even sure meself.

Strike arrived back at Denmark Street with his heart feeling a little lighter. 

A shower and some dutch courage, and then he'd figure out a way of speaking to her. He'd spoken to Wardle. He'd spoken to Lorelei. He could speak to Robin. He just needed an opportunity.

How hard could it be?

Apparently, not hard at all. Robin's keys were dangling from the office door.

***

"Planning a hostile takeover?"

Robin leapt to her feet. Strike was standing by the inner door. Her first instinct was to whip the bill behind her back, pretend she hadn't just taken things from his desk, that she wasn't interested in how he'd spent the two weeks of her honeymoon or why he'd called her parents' home in Yorkshire.

Brave and selfish. That's what Vanessa recommended. _And no-one has their shit more together than Van._

So she let the document fall from her hands and slide towards Strike. It stopped in the centre of the desk.

***

Strike's stomach churned when he saw the red dawn over blue mountains, and realised what had caused the intense expression on Robin's face.

"Cards on the table?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

He turned to go, "I've got whisky. C'mon, we'll have the hair of the dog."

***

Strike's flat was quiet, the usual medley of roadworks and drummers about to fail their grade 3 being absent. In Robin's head the clink of two glasses being carried together, and the sound of liquid glugging from the bottle was startlingly loud.

Just to add her own sounds before she lost her nerve she blurted, "I ... I've been out for a run."

"Strange place to run to."

"Got lost. New house."

***

Strike smiled. "So you came in to ... ?"

She shrugged and approached the glass nearest to her on the counter. "Make some tea. Perhaps pay some invoices. Bit of light dusting."

_Fuck it all._

He reached out with one arm and pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her face into his neck.


	8. Disintegration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought when I started that this would encompass the whole of Lethal White time but actually I've managed less than 24 hours. I'm the same if there's biscuits in the house. 😁

For a moment, Robin was transported back to the steps at her wedding, and the hug which seemed always to mark the end of their friendship and the start of whatever had replaced it.

He smelled a bit different this time, less like an A&E, more like a chippy. But probably better than she did, after nearly six miles of road running.

As soon as she relaxed into him, he pulled away.

"Sorry."

Robin downed half of the contents of her glass in one gulp. "Don't be sorry. Talk to me."

***

"OK." Strike took a sip of his drink. "I want you to know. I just spoke to Lorelei. We're not seeing each other as of half an hour ago."

"Oh."

"I don't ... I'm not telling you that because I expect something from you. I just want you to know. I want you to know everything."

"OK."

"And ... I spoke to Vanessa about you. At the party. I mean, not intentionally. You just came up. And to Wardle, this morning. Intentionally." _You're babbling Strike. This isn't what you want to say._

"Wardle?"

"Because I couldn't make sense of what Vanessa said. And Wardle said Vanessa told him that you tried to call me. From the Maldives."

"Yes."

 _OK. Now we're getting somewhere._ "Why?"

***

Robin took another gulp and decided more drink was definitely needed. "Why did you call my parents' number?"

He shrugged and she wondered if they would ever clear the air, after all. Perhaps they were both too fond of their own private Idahos, to really open up.

Then she heard him say quietly but clearly, "I wanted to hear your voice."

"Ditto."

"Everything that happened after that ... was stupidity because I thought I'd lost you." 

Robin smiled. "Ditto."

***

Strike grinned. "So, the honeymoon ..."

"I went away with him so we could sort out an annulment in peace. Then he got sick ..."

"Sea-borne bacteria."

She nodded. "Yes. And I got trapped. He was so ill and he said he needed me. So I ... said I wanted to try. I lied. I've been lying ever since." She looked at Strike, silently willing him to understand.

***

Happiness was breaking over Strike like a wave. _Oh thank fuck._

"So ... you don't want him?"

"No."

"And you don't love him?"

"No."

"And you never have?"

***

Robin sighed and shook her head, "I can't say that. We go back a long way. At the beginning ..."

He was slipping an arm around her waist. _Oh, now I've had too much because that feels ... impossibly good._

"Can't you just lie for me?"

"Strike! No ..."

***

Strike touched his nose to hers and allowed their breaths to mingle. "You lied for him."

She let out a malted laugh. "Mmmm ... look how well that turned out."

He dipped his mouth to hers softly. "You're an investigator. A master of deceit, of illusion."

"I charge for that though."

"Christ, woman, you can invoice me ..."

***

 _I'm definitely a bit drunk_ , Robin thought. _One day I'm going to drink just the right amount and stop there. But now, I'm drunk and a little crazy._

"OK then." 

She closed down The Robin Ellacott and unpacked another. Strike was watching her, as if she was the most fascinating thing he'd ever encountered.

***

He loved that moment on her.

"I never loved Matthew," the new Robin Ellacott announced.

Suspending even the notion of disbelief, he rubbed his stubbled jaw down her neck and inhaled a lungful of her scent. "No?"

"No. I couldn't, because I wanted you. As soon as I met you ... "

He mumbled into her hair, "Before ..."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

***

"OK." Robin started again. "Since before I knew you existed, I wanted you."

"Thought as much ..." 

She ran her hands through his hair and linked them at the back of his neck. _Don't stop touching me, or I'll get stage fright._

"I lied about my uni course. I wanted to do ..." she paused to watch him unclasp her running belt. It fell to the floor with a clatter. "Mmmm ... I wanted to do _Seducing Your Ex-SIB Officer, An Introduction_ ' and ' _Hot Love With Army Veterans, Modules 1, 2 and 3_ ' but they were ... oh ... oversubscribed ..." 

"Oh, Ellacott. They always are ..."

"... so I settled for Forensic Psychology."

***

Strike pushed her top upwards and found some skin on which to begin tracing patterns. Her hands twisted behind him and her breaths were shallow and he knew she was losing the will to play this game.

"Quick, tell me more."

"Strike, I want your hands on me."

Too close to the bone. "OK," he raised his head and looked her in the eye. "You can stop lying now."

***

What was he talking about? Robin took one of his hands and put it where she wanted it.

"Already have ..."

***

As the darkness gathered, and the sound of Matthew's texts became ever more insistent, Strike found and handed Robin her phone. Once she had dealt with the past, she went back to his bed, where he had high hopes of seeing her come apart at last.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just realised I've stolen the phrase "Happiness was breaking over [Strike] like a wave". Leaving it in because I like it, but it's lifted from Anne of the Island by L M Montgomery. Credit where it's due.
> 
> _Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked._
> 
> _"I have a dream," he said slowly. "I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends -- and YOU!"_
> 
> _Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her._
> 
> _"I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it again today will you give me a different answer?"_
> 
> When I read this as a child I thought that Anne had definitely made a mistake. She should have married Roy bc he was rich and one handsome bloke was pretty much like another. Children are so practical. 😁


End file.
